The Doctor's Funeral
by MichelleAppleby
Summary: Can a hologram die?


**The Doctor's Funeral**

He was alone.

The Doctor was standing in the midst of a white void that stretched off as far as the eye could see.

"Hello?" said the Doctor, then instantly berated himself. "And who are you saying hello to?" He wondered if senility was built into his program. He looked around, but all he saw was an endless whiteness. He sighed in frustration.

Where the devil was he?

* * *

First Officer Chakotay was in the turbo-lift when a call came through on his com-badge. It was Lieutenant Commander Torres, the chief engineer.

"What is it, Lieutenant?" asked Chakotay.

"I'm not sure how to put this, sir," said the voice from his com-badge, "but we seem to have lost the Doctor."

"What?"

"Can you come to Sickbay?"

"On my way."

The lift hummed to a halt and the doors swished open. Chakotay strode down a corridor and entered Sickbay. Torres and Lieutenant Tom Paris were both at the computer console that held the Doctor's holographic matrix. Chakotay joined them.

"So what happened?" he asked.

"Well," said Paris, "I had an appointment with the Doc to help him calibrate some instruments. I asked the computer to activate him as usual and nothing happened. I tried again a couple of times and then asked Lt. Torres to have a look.

"And?" Chakotay turned to the half-Klingon engineer.

"I can't find anything wrong with the computer," said Torres. "His matrix is just … gone."

"Deleted?"

"That should be impossible, sir."

"Should?"

"There are all kinds of authorization codes and fail-safes."

"In other words: It's possible."

Torres opened her mouth and then thought better of it. Paris was not so smart.

"It could be just a glitch," he said.

"A glitch?" exclaimed Torres with a flash of Klingon temper.

"Let's hope it's a glitch, ," said Chakotay. "But may I remind you that the Doctor is not just an electronic program—he's a member of this crew and he is missing. Is that clear?"

"Crystal, sir."

"Good."

"What do you want me to do?" asked Paris with a trace of sullenness.

"Well, until we find the Doctor, you're in charge of Sickbay."

Chakotay walked out, the doors swishing closed behind him. Paris turned to Torres, his face pinched.

"Just what I needed," said Paris. "A lecture on the rights of electronic life-forms."

"Shut up, Tom."

* * *

Stretched along one wall of the captain's ready-room was a row of portals that looked out onto the galaxies of the Delta Quadrant. Captain Janeway would often contemplate the beauty of the various stars and nebula as they traveled towards home. She was staring out of these portals now, but her mind was not on the view. The tall figures of Tuvok and Chakotay stood waiting for her response to Chakotay's report on the missing doctor.

"Possible explanations?" she asked.

"We'll know more when Lt. Torres has completed her analysis," said Chakotay, "but at present there are three possibilities. One: His matrix has been transferred to another part of the ship's computer. Two: He has been taken by aliens using technology we don't yet understand. And three…"

Chakotay paused. Janeway turned to face them and finished the sentence.

"He's been deleted," she said.

"Yes."

Janeway took a step towards the officers bringing her hand to her forehead as though brushing a troublesome thought away.

"All right, gentlemen," she said. "Let's focus on the first two possibilities."

"With respect, captain," said Tuvok, "is it logical to discount the possibility of deletion?"

"Of course not," said Janeway. "But one of my crewmen is missing and our assuming he's deleted is not going to help us find him."

Tuvok nodded.

"The first two possibilities," he said, "both constitute serious breeches of security—one internal, one external."

"Which is more likely?" asked Chakotay.

"Difficult to say, commander," said Tuvok. "To move the Doctor's matrix to another part of the ship's computer without detection would take considerable skill. It is logical to assume that someone with such skill would be able to cover their trail. And if the Doctor were stolen by an alien technology then that technology would be, by definition, undetectable."

"Not necessarily," said Chakotay. "Alien technologies often leave traces."

"But there have been no 'traces.' Nothing unusual has been picked up by our sensors for the past two weeks. Therefore, if the Doctor has been taken by unknown aliens, their technology is so sophisticated that it has eluded our sensors."

"That doesn't make much sense," said Janeway, sitting behind her desk. "If an alien culture were that sophisticated they would be able to create their own holograms. Why steal ours?"

"They might be curious about us," said Chakotay.

"Then why not simply talk to us?" said Janeway. "If their technology is that much superior to ours, what have they to worry about? And why risk provoking an alien starship by stealing from it? No, gentlemen, let's rule out alien involvement for now."

Janeway stared at the stars through a portal and drummed her fingers on the polished desk.

"Any chance of computer malfunction?" she asked.

"Torres is looking into it, but it seems unlikely," said Chakotay.

"Then, if the Doctor still exists, there's only one other possibility," said Janeway. She turned her chair and looked at the two men. "He was taken by someone aboard this ship."

In the briefing room, the senior crew were listening to Lt. Torres give her technical report. Captain Janeway sat at the head of the table flanked by Commanders Chakotay and Tuvok. Also present were Lt. Paris, Ensign Harry Kim and the ship's morale officer, Neelix.

"In conclusion," said Torres, "there is no evidence to support the theory of computer malfunction. The Doctor was deliberately taken or deleted by someone who knew what they were doing."

"Is it possible that the Doctor deleted himself?" asked Ensign Kim.

"Electronic hara-kiri?" said Paris dryly.

"Well … yeah."

"That's impossible," said Torres hotly. "The EMH is simply not programmed with suicidal sub-routines."

"But the Doctor was getting more emotional all the time," said Kim. "Maybe he got depressed?"

"That's ridiculous," said Torres.

"Besides," said Paris, "you're forgetting his ego. If he was going to do himself in he wouldn't quietly delete himself. He'd make sure _everyone_ knew about it."

"Is that how'd you do it?" sneered Kim.

"Sure! If you're gonna go, you may as well make a big splash."

"This line of thought is irrelevant," said Tuvok.

"Don't Vulcans ever commit suicide?" asked Neelix.

"Of course not," said Paris. "It wouldn't be logical."

"Not so, Mr. Paris," said Tuvok. "On Vulcan, suicide is considered the strongest possible form of protest. There have been many instances in our history where…"

"Gentlemen," said Janeway, "can we get back to discussing the Doctor before I commit hara-kiri myself?"

There was some self-conscious coughing. Paris and Kim exchanged looks. Chakotay looked over at Torres and said:

"Lieutenant, your conclusion is that the Doctor was taken by someone on board this ship?"

"Yes, sir."

"Someone highly skilled in the programming of computers?"

"Yes, sir," said Torres.

"Better than you even," said Paris, expecting a fierce look from Torres and getting it. "I mean, they must be or you'd have spotted the tampering."

"That is a logical conclusion," said Tuvok.

Paris gave Torres a look that said, 'See, even Tuvok thinks so!' He didn't dare say it out loud. She might have exploded.

Neelix tried to smooth things over. "Lt. Commander Torres is the most skilled computer technician…" he saw her expression, "…I mean, computer _scientist_ I have ever known. Who on this ship is better than her?"

"I can think of someone," said Kim quietly.

Janeway glanced at Chakotay whose eyes turned to her at the same moment. Humans are not a consciously telepathic species, but the captain and her first officer knew they were thinking the same thing.

* * *

In the astro-metrics lab, Seven-Of-Nine went about her duties. Information was gathered, figures were processed, calculations were made, all with an efficiency few humans could master. Not a movement wasted; every molecule of her being seemed focused on the task at hand. 'You are remarkable, Seven,' said the captain's voice. 'You should be proud of yourself.'

Seven worked on at the console without looking up. She knew she was alone. As part of the Borg collective she had been accustomed to hearing voices in her head, but this was different. This voice was not a telepathic communication from the captain, but came from within Seven herself. Somehow, the captain's constant support and encouragement had entered Seven and, like a benign virus, was now circulating in her system. The most logical explanation was that Janeway had done something to Seven while she was regenerating—perhaps injected nanobots with the ideas. But Seven also knew, with absolute certainty, that Janeway had not done this. This knowing, and the certainty that came with this knowing, was not based on evidence or scientific data. It was a feeling. A curious phenomena, thought Seven, to know a feeling was correct even though there was no evidence to support it. Also curious was to hear Janeway when Janeway was not there. Perhaps, thought Seven, there is a part of me that _is_ Janeway. We do not share molecules, but if you took away our physical bodies then perhaps what is left would be…

The doors to the astro-metrics lab opened and Captain Janeway walked in. For a moment, Seven considered the possibility that she had somehow summoned the captain with her thoughts. The thought was filed and Seven turned to the business at hand:

"Captain."

The captain raised her hand as though to say 'at ease', but for Seven 'at ease' or 'stand to attention' were the same. Janeway hoped one day she would grasp that. She stood near Seven and looked up at the giant screen which dominated the far side of the lab. It showed a detailed map of the Delta Quadrant—round dots on a square grid made of light and dotted lines indicating the orbits of planets and moons. Janeway looked at it for a long time.

"May I ask you something, captain?"

"Of course."

"You are looking at the star map yet it is clear your mind is elsewhere. I am curious to know why."

"I have something to ask you, but I find it difficult."

"You have pain when you speak?"

"In a manner of speaking."

"Have you reported to Sickbay?"

Janeway knew that Seven was not trying to be funny. In fact, it was she, Janeway, who was not being clear. She decided to dispense with tact.

"We have a problem, Seven," said Janeway. "The Doctor's matrix has disappeared from the EMH computer mainframe. I've come to ask if you've transferred the Doctor to another part of the computer without authorisation."

"No, captain," said Seven.

"You have no information regarding the Doctor's whereabouts?"

"No, captain."

Janeway looked at Seven. Seven looked back. Janeway's expression softened and she smiled.

"Thank you, Seven," said Janeway. "That's all I wanted to know."

"Was this what you found difficult?" asked Seven.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because it felt like I was accusing you of something."

"But my computer skills make me a reasonable suspect."

"I know. But you didn't do it, so let's leave it at that."

Janeway turned to go.

"I don't understand," said Seven.

Janeway turned back and saw a deep furrow of concern on Seven's brow. Despite the formality of the Borg's manner Janeway sensed frantic desperation within her. An image came to her: A small girl was surrounded by flying pieces of paper. One piece held the answer the girl looked for and she was madly grabbing for it.

"What don't you understand?" asked Janeway.

"If I had taken the Doctor without authorisation, surely I would deny it?"

"Yes," said Janeway nodding. "I would imagine so."

"Then how can you know that I am telling the truth?"

Captain Janeway approached Seven and placed her hands on the Borg's arms, looking her in the eye. Seven had the weird feeling she was looking _up_ at the captain, even though Janeway was a half foot shorter.

"My feelings tell me so," said Janeway. "And I trust my feelings."

The captain gave Seven's arms a gentle squeeze. Then she turned and walked out through the doors, which swished shut behind her.

* * *

"Deck Five and make it snappy!" barked Torres from inside the turbo-lift.

She knew that barking at the computer had no effect, but it made her feel better—she even toyed with the idea of one day programming some belligerence into the computer so she could have a proper argument. She wanted to see Tom, but he was currently so busy as combined pilot and medic that she hardly saw him. Mind you, if he was in Sickbay, she had time enough for a quick visit.

"Computer," said Torres. "Locate Tom Paris."

"Holodeck Three," said the computer.

Holodeck Three? What was Tom doing on the holodeck? Had he booked in some recreation time? _Without her?_ Be'Lanna felt like hitting someone.

The turbo-lift arrived at Deck Five and the doors opened. Ensign Harry Kim stood in the entrance.

"Hello, Be'Lanna," he said, smiling.

"Are you just going to stand there or are you getting in?" she demanded. Harry's smile faltered.

"Er … I'll just stand here," he said. "There'll be another one along in a minute."

The lift doors closed in his face.

"Holodeck Three," said Torres, "and be quick about it!"

The turbo-lift sped off. Torres didn't know what to expect and her imagination conjured up images to fill the void—Tom Paris lying on satin cushions surrounded by Tyrellion dancing girls among others. However, when Torres finally walked onto Holodeck 3 she thought she had taken a wrong turn. Recreated in perfect detail was the Voyager Sickbay. There was a patient on one of the beds being tended to by Tom Paris and the…

"Doctor!" cried Torres.

The tall familiar figure of the Doctor turned to face her. He frowned and said in his clipped voice, "And who might you be?"

"Be'Lanna Torres!" said Torres. She looked over at Paris, confused. Paris sighed.

"Computer: Freeze programme," he said.

The Doctor froze in mid-frown. The patient on the bed stopped breathing.

"Tom, what's going on?" asked Torres.

"What does it look like?"

"It looks like you're operating on a patient."

"Well, there you go!"

Torres looked at the beds, the equipment, the computer consoles. Everything was there.

"I didn't know there were medical simulations on the holodeck computer," she said.

"There weren't," said Paris. "The Doctor programmed them as a kind of homework, so that I could learn basic procedures without taking up his time."

"That sounds like him," said Torres, regarding the figure of the Doctor who was now as still as a waxwork. She looked back at Paris. "You never mentioned this."

"I never intended to use them, Be'Lanna. I was seeing enough of the Doc as it was without using up my holodeck rations."

"I'm glad to hear it," said Torres. She was smiling now and Paris smiled back. He looked wistfully over at the Doctor.

"Of course, that's all changed now," said Paris. "Chakotay's given me special permission to use the holodeck for these simulations and if the Doc doesn't reappear soon we'd better consider getting some more crew members trained up."

"How many of these simulations are there?"

"Quite a few. You know how much the Doctor loved the sound of his own voice. Recreating himself must have been a labour of love for him."

Torres walked around the frozen Doctor, studying him. An idea was beginning to form in her mind.

"Tom," she said. "Would you show me some of these simulations?"

* * *

Two days later, Be'Lanna was outlining her plan to the captain. They were in the captain's ready room along with Commander Chakotay and Janeway was sat at her desk looking through the schematics on the electronic notebook. Torres was in full flow.

"Apart from the Doctor's matrix being gone, the EMH computer itself is fine. It's like a library where all the books have been taken out, but the building itself is intact. We could transfer the doctor from the holodeck simulations onto the EMH computer and then use that as a template to increase his capacity."

"In other words," said Chakotay, "we stock this library with what books we have and then add to it, book by book?"

"Exactly," said Torres. "Of course, the EMH would be crude compared to the Doctor even when he was first activated, but I think over time it could work pretty well."

As Torres concluded, Janeway looked impassively at the information in her hand. She clicked off the report and handed it back to the chief engineer.

"This is good work, lieutenant," said Janeway. "You have my permission to proceed with your idea."

"Thank you, captain," said Torres, but Janeway had already turned away. Torres and Chakotay left together and, after the door had slid shut behind them, Torres muttered, "I just showed her how we might get a doctor back on this ship. You'd have thought she'd have shown a little enthusiasm!"

It was late at night and Neelix was alone in the galley. Of course, the word 'night' on board a starship is a relative term. Night was simply the time when the majority of the crew were asleep and the lights would be automatically dimmed on the living quarters to help the illusion. Strange, thought Neelix, how humans seemed to need the feeling of night—a primitive need for a species capable of space travel, but an endearing one. He didn't need it himself—he followed his body's rhythm of awake ten hours, asleep four hours, awake ten, asleep four—but the quiet of 'night' made a wonderful contrast with the busy-ness of 'day.' He chopped exotic vegetables, prepared soups and hummed to himself.

"Do you have any coffee, Neelix?"

"Captain!" said Neelix, dropping his ladle into the soup with a plop.

"Sorry," said Janeway. "I didn't mean to make you jump." She was wearing her uniform, but the jacket collar was open and Neelix saw she had slung it over her nightshirt.

"Is your replicator not functioning?" asked Neelix.

"Yes, but I nearly used up this month's rations and I want to be a little more responsible."

"Why do you ration yourself? You're the captain!"

"…And must therefore set an example. Come on, Neelix—Coffee!"

"Coffee will keep you awake, captain. I think you need something to help you sleep."

"What do you have in mind?" asked Janeway, trying to sound genuinely interested.

Neelix opened the fridge and took out a gleaming flask. He poured out a measure of liquid into a cup then put the cup in the heater and the flask back in the fridge. After a moment, he handed the cup, now gently steaming, over to the captain. The liquid was dark brown, more like chocolate than coffee, and warmed her hands. Janeway was grateful it wasn't bright green or something and took the cup to one of the tables near the window. Neelix poured himself a glass of water and went over to join her.

"Something on your mind, captain?" said Neelix.

"Yes," said Janeway, staring out at the stars and sipping the hot drink. Neelix was dying to ask what she thought of it—it was one of his own creations—but he could tell this wasn't the moment. Instead, he took a guess.

"Is it about the Doctor?"

"Yes."

Neelix nodded.

"You know, captain," he said, "the mood of the crew is a lot lighter since Be'Lanna started work on the new EMH. Everyone was quite worried about continuing this voyage without a doctor on board. Why, at breakfast, I overheard Ensign Carol Tomlinson say that if the Doctor hadn't been there during the last Kazon attack she wouldn't be here today."

"Yes," said Janeway. "But now he's gone. Perhaps out there somewhere," she gestured to the stars, "and … and something in me finds it wrong, somehow, to even try to replace him."

"The ship needs a doctor."

"Yes, but what about _him?_"

"I don't understand, captain."

"Neelix, what would happen to the post of captain if something were to happen to me?"

Neelix cringed. There had been too many occasions where Captain Janeway had escaped death by a whisker for him to want to think about the possibility. Janeway, a little impatiently, answered her own question.

"Chakotay would replace me."

"He could never replace you, captain."

"He would be the new captain, _yes?_"

"Yes, captain."

"But suppose," she continued, "we were to discover an alien technology that could somehow duplicate me—an android or clone—and _then_ I were killed. If Janeway Mark II were an exact duplicate, should _she_ then become captain?"

"No!" exclaimed Neelix.

"Why not?"

"Because … she wouldn't be _you_."

"She would make the same decisions. She would do the same job."

"But captain, even if the technology were available, would you seriously consider having a spare 'you' in the freezer in case of accidents?"

"Of course not!" said Janeway with a shudder. "The very idea gives me the creeps."

"Then why even think about it?"

"Because aren't we doing that very thing to the Doctor? Yes, we may be able to create a new Doctor and it might walk like him and talk like him, but it won't _be_ him. It won't be the Doctor that Ensign Tomlinson owes her life to because the new Doctor wasn't there."

Janeway's drink had gone cold. She stood, walked to the window and looked out at the stars, her silhouette faintly outlined with starlight.

"Part of me says that the Emergency Medical Hologram is simply a tool," said the captain. "A tool that needs fixing or even replacing if it doesn't function properly. But another part of me feels that the Doctor was much more than that. Infinitely more. I feel like I have lost a member of the crew and conjuring up a new one feels like a betrayal."

"I understand," said Neelix.

The two of them stayed silent for long moments, each deep in their own thoughts. Then Neelix said, "You know, captain, a lot of the crew feel the same. Perhaps we need to honour those feelings in some way."

Janeway turned to look at him.

"How?"

* * *

The following morning there was an announcement to the crew on their vid-screens. The captain would be holding a memorial service in the chapel that evening in honor of the Doctor. Anyone who wanted to pay their last respects was invited to attend. For those crew members on duty, permission could be sought from their commanding officers to be excused duties for the duration of the service.

Be'Lanna Torres and Tom Paris were spending most of that day on Holodeck Three isolating the fragments of the Doctor that would be transferred to the EMH mainframe in Sickbay. Torres had wanted to get the job done quickly, but she had already been interrupted by engineering crew members who wanted to attend the service.

"Can you believe it?" ranted Torres. "The captain is holding a funeral service for a computer programme! What next?"

Paris was tinkering with a panel on the holodeck's control grid. When he spoke his voice was deceptively disinterested.

"Did you give those crew members permission to go?"

"Of course I did," said Torres. "Ensign Tomlinson was nearly in tears! Besides, with the captain giving the eulogy, I could hardly say no, could I?"

Paris touched the connection and the Doctor suddenly appeared before them, already speaking.

"Please state the nature of the medical emerg…"

"Computer: Freeze program," said Paris.

The Doctor froze in mid-sentence. Paris gave the electronic screwdriver a half-turn and the Doctor rewound to the beginning. Torres activated her tricorder to check the hologram that stood motionless before them.

"Ensign Tomlinson," said Paris thoughtfully. "Didn't she suffer third degree burns during a Kazon attack?"

"You should know," said Torres, her eyes on the read-out panel. "You were in Sickbay at the time."

"That's right. If I remember right, the Doctor saved her life."

Torres snapped the tricorder shut.

"He carried out his program!" she said. "I mean, you don't say thank you to the ship when it warps us out of trouble, do you?"

"I do actually," said Paris. "And Voyager is a 'she' not an 'it'."

"Well, I should have known better than to ask you!"

Paris dropped the screwdriver into the tool kit and straightened up to leave.

"Unless there is anything else," he said, "I've work to do in Sickbay. I won't be home 'til late, so don't wait up."

"Don't tell me you're going to that service?" said Torres. She gestured at the frozen figure of the Doctor. "Tom, it's a hologram!"

"I know _that's_ a hologram. But it's not the Doctor I knew."

"So you're going to say prayers for a deleted computer program?"

"No, I'm going to say good-bye to a friend. And if you weren't so eager to show everyone how clever you are, you'd realize that too!"

Paris turned and left, the doors shutting with a clang that seemed louder than usual. Torres stared open-mouthed at the space he had left. It was not often that Tom Paris got the last word.

* * *

The chapel on board Voyager was slowly filling up. The captain sat on a raised dais which she shared with the first officer and a small table upon which stood a picture of the Doctor. The captain was gratified to see that the seating had nearly disappeared and that newcomers would have to stand. Neelix was sat near the front and the captain gave him a quick nod. Neelix smiled back.

"This was a good idea, captain," said Chakotay. "What made you think of it?"

"It came to me in the night."

Harry Kim and Tom Paris were sat next to each other. Paris kept looking back to the entrance.

"Expecting Be'Lanna?" asked Kim.

"No," said Paris.

"Liar."

"I can't believe this doesn't mean anything to her. She spent so much time with the Doc. How can she not care?"

"She's a scientist."

"So's the captain, but she's here. Look! Even Seven-of-Nine's turned up!"

Harry turned and, sure enough, there was the Borg scanning the crowd and taking her place at the back. She stood tall and straight like a sentry.

"My word," said Harry. "Wonders will never cease."

The captain felt they were soon ready to begin. Almost everyone she had expected was here. Tuvok was on the bridge. He had said he'd come to terms with the loss of the Doctor in his own way and there was no need for him to take part in this service. But Lt. Torres hadn't yet arrived. The captain saw Paris looking over at the door. When he looked back, she caught his eye and raised her eyebrows. Paris seemed to consider, then shook his head and looked at the floor.

"Commander," said the captain. "I think we should begin."

"What about Lt. Torres?"

"It appears she won't be coming."

As the captain stood to address the crew, Chakotay cursed under his breath. 'Stupid hot-headed Klingon,' he thought. Even if she didn't share the crew's feelings, couldn't she as an officer have turned up to present a united front?

"Officers and crew of the USS Voyager," said the captain. Any last voices quietened down. "I am deeply moved by how many of you have come here today to pay tribute to the Doctor. It is true that the Doctor was not a life form in the way that we usually define the term, but I will not debate the matter at these proceedings. We are here to acknowledge the loss of a member of this crew and, to many of us, a friend. The Doctor was..."

The chapel doors slid open and Torres walked in. "Better late than never," muttered Paris to Harry Kim. The captain paused, waiting for Torres to take her place somewhere, but instead she marched straight up the centre aisle, stopping just short of the dais.

"Oh, no," said Paris. "Don't tell me she's making a protest."

"Captain," said Torres. "I apologize for interrupting the service, but something very important has come up."

"Indeed," said the captain.

Paris put his hand over his eyes. Torres tapped her com-badge.

"You can come in now," she said.

The chapel doors slid open and everyone turned. A familiar figure walked, a little hesitantly, into the room. Complete with the mobile emitter attached to his arm was the Doctor. A stunned silence greeted him as he approached the dais.

"Hello, captain," he said, looking perturbed. "I understand from Lt. Torres that I've been missing for some time."

"Yes," said the captain. She looked at Torres, her eyes demanding to know if it really was the original Doctor that stood before her.

"It's him," said Torres. "Believe me, captain."

"The last thing I remember," said the Doctor, "was setting up a simulation on Holodeck 3. I'd prepared to transfer some personality subroutines into the computer, pressed the switch and the next thing I know I'm standing in front of Lt. Torres who tells me I had disappeared for days!"

Captain Janeway stepped down from the dais and stood in front of the Doctor. She looked at him with wonder.

"We thought we'd lost you," she said.

"Well, you'll be gratified to know that I'm fine," said the Doctor.

"It's him all right," muttered Paris to Harry Kim. Chakotay quietly placed the picture face down on the small table next to him. The Doctor suddenly seemed to be aware of the audience watching the scene.

"What's going on?" he said. "Did somebody die?"

* * *

Following his dramatic reappearance in the chapel, the Doctor was taken to Sickbay and Torres ran a full diagnostic on his programme. Paris assisted and both Captain Janeway and Commander Chakotay appeared in time to hear the results of the tests. Everything was 100% fully functional.

"Well, Doctor," said Chakotay. "I hope next time you'll tell someone before fiddling around with your program."

"I won't be doing any 'fiddling' for some time," said the Doctor. "I have a backlog of several days work which needs to be done."

"We won't keep it from you any longer," said the captain.

"I'd like to stay behind for a bit," said Torres. "There are some final checks I'd like to do."

"As you wish," said the captain.

"Good to have you back, Doc," said Paris as he turned to leave.

"Thank you, Tom," said the Doctor.

Paris and Chakotay left, but the captain paused in the doorway.

"There is something bothering me, lieutenant," said the captain to Torres. "When you first searched the ship's computer systems for the Doctor's matrix, did you not check the holodeck programs?"

"Yes, Ma'am, but..." Torres shrugged. "To find a hologram program in a database of hologram programs ... it's like trying to find one book in a library full of them."

"You can dispense with the metaphors, lieutenant. I know what computer code is and how it works. And how to identify it."

Torres's brown face went a shade darker.

"To be honest, captain," said Torres, choosing her words. "I think I let my ego get in the way. I was so keen to create a new EMH that perhaps I didn't put my energy where it should have been. I'm sorry."

"I see."

The captain stood for what felt like a long time looking at Torres.

"All right, lieutenant," she said and left.

The door slid shut behind her. Torres and the Doctor stood in silence staring at it. Finally, with anxiety in his voice, the Doctor said:

"Do you think she suspects?"

"What, that we planned this?" said Torres. "I don't think so."

"How can you be sure?"

"Doctor, you were the one who wanted to find out how the crew _really_ saw you! Now you have your answer!"

"Yes, but I feel rather guilty about the deception."

"Well, if it's any consolation, so do I."

The Doctor slumped into a chair.

"I'm sorry I dragged you into the vortex of my feverish insecurities."

"Don't worry about it," said Torres. She sat on the desktop and looked down at him. "I know what it's like to be different from everyone else. I've often dreamed about seeing who would turn up at my funeral. And the fact that there was one for you should tell you how the crew feels about you."

"Yes, but I should have trusted them. I should have had faith."

"Well," said Torres, springing off the desk. "Now you have something new to worry about!"

She collected her equipment and made a few last adjustments at the computer console. The Doctor stood up and watched her.

"There is one thing, Be'Lanna," said the Doctor.

"What?"

"If I _had_ disappeared for real ... well ..." He shifted from one foot to the other. "Would you have gone to the service?"

Be'Lanna glared at him.

"Forget it," said the Doctor. "I think I'd better get on with some work."

END


End file.
